


Breathe

by j_a_is_fandom_trash



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Curt's having a bit of a breakdown, M/M, One Shot, Period-Typical Homophobia, as am i but whatever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23735086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_a_is_fandom_trash/pseuds/j_a_is_fandom_trash
Summary: Two different one-shots that I've decided to put together into one fic. Both set during everyone's favourite dramatic final showdown, chapter 1 from Curt's perspective, chapter 2 from Owen's. It's angsty but it's fun
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!  
> Back at it again with more angsty one shots. Luckily for everyone there is no dialogue in this one so we can get away from the cringe that was that lmao. This is pretty angsty and there's a little bit of swearing but nothing too bad. Hope you enjoy :))  
> Constructive criticism is always welcome so please leave a comment if you have any thoughts. Have a good day! :)

Curt had never enjoyed the feeling of deja vu: it was unnerving to say the least. It seemed to reinforce this idea in his head that everything was scripted, that he had no real say in all these messed up scenarios he found himself in, that his actions were all pre-determined, that every possible circumstance had already been accounted for. Unfortunately, in his line of work, the feeling was constant. The work was the same wherever he was in the world, find the bad guys, shoot to kill. Mostly the Russians at this point, destroy some new weapon they’d developed, send across the blueprints. All’s fair in love and war, not that he would know. Nothing about their relationship had been fair. Hell, nothing about his life had been fair. He’d never asked to feel the way that he did, to want the things that he wanted, and now he’d spent his entire life protecting a country that would brand him a criminal, and for what? He’d lost everything that night four years ago, and he was about to lose everything again.

There was something poetic about their final standoff, he mused. The symmetry between what had happened to them then and what was happening now was uncanny. It seemed that the only thing that had really changed was the man who was standing in front of him. There was a reason they worked missions together, besides the obvious of course, they balanced each other out. Impulsive next to calculating, brash next to thoughtful, and at the end of the day they had enough respect for each other to listen to what the other suggested. There was no denying the chemistry between the two, that most likely came from their overlaps in personality. Despite their differing approaches to missions, the two had a similar way of egging each other on, of pushing each other right to the edge of their tether just to pull themselves back from the brink. But four years had done a lot to his former partner. The composed demeanour had been completely eradicated, replaced instead by an infuriating arrogance and malice, his eyes had iced over, that light of life suspended in a sea of hatred and pride that was attempting to conceal the truth- Owen felt betrayed. Curt knew him too well to not notice how he was really feeling, and it tore him up inside. 

They had loved each other once. At first it had simply been the thrill, they were adrenaline junkies, and they were able to get high off of each other simply by being in the same room, by stealing those few precious moments outside a warehouse or in the back of a plane. But the time they spent together made him realise that this had always been more than (an albeit intoxicating) fling, that the rush he felt whenever they locked eyes for a second too long wasn’t the same feeling as when he was sneaking into a compound, and it certainly didn’t compare to what he usually felt when carrying out his own little private “screw yous” to the government that had done the same to him too many times to count. This was something different, something more. They both lived for adrenaline but they thrived off of affection. In fact, the more time they spent together the more he began to despise the familiar feeling that surged through him when the two pulled a risky move, Curt’s life had been boring and bland before Owen had entered it, and he didn’t want to have to go back to that.

Losing Owen had been the worst thing that had ever happened to him. He’d lost partners before, it was inevitable in their line of work, but what he and Owen had had was different. The worst part about it was that he had to try and keep it together, to act as if he’d just lost a colleague, pretend like his whole world hadn’t come crashing down. He didn’t do a very good job of it. Everyone saw how miserable he was and none of them could do anything about it. Owen had been his anchor, the thing that kept him in touch with reality when everything else in his life was a mess, now he had no one. The only person who truly cared about him gone in a split second, he’d needed Curt at that moment and he hadn’t been able to do anything, he’d just left. He’d spent the majority of his career making impulsive decisions, why did Owen have to pay the price?

Although it was impossible, the two of them had often spent hours talking about what their future together would be like. What kind of house they’d buy, whether they wanted pets, what kind of wedding they’d have. They never got to hit relationship milestones like everyone else, they couldn’t get married, hell they couldn’t even hold hands in public. Despite all their planning, Curt had never prepared himself for meeting Owen’s parents, and he certainly never imagined he’d be doing it at Owen’s funeral. The conversation had been very stilted, all of them were grieving and where the Carvour’s weren’t really interested in talking to the man who had let their son die (though obviously they weren’t aware of the full details of the situation) Curt was desperate to get away from the only people in the world who could make him feel even more guilty than he already did. He spent most of the funeral hidden at the back, lurking in the shadows and trying not to strike up any conversations, but when everyone else had left he stayed. Sitting next to Owen’s grave, rain pouring down around him, he broke down.

The next few years were just a drunken haze, there were a lot of tears, a lot of angry outbursts and many, many stolen bottles of booze. He stayed with his mum for a bit, then moved back to his place. Barb contacted him a few times but he mostly just ignored her, she was just too cheerful, too eager to make him feel better, he needed some time to wallow in his own misery. He spent the whole time trying to forget that Owen had ever existed, he stayed mostly in his bedroom, away from any pictures or letters, he slept, drank, threw up and then slept again. It wasn’t until he came across a photo they’d taken in Berlin (Curt had dared Owen to sneak as close as he could to the East Berlin border and take a picture of himself, in hindsight it had been a very stupid plan) that he started thinking about his job again. Being a spy had been a huge part of his life, he could barely remember what he’d done before it, it was the only thing other than Owen that had made him happy. He figured Owen would want him to give it another shot, to try and pull himself together. Part of him didn’t think he’d ever be fully ready to get back in the field, but something told him it was now or never. 

Everywhere he went he saw Owen and it was hell. Getting back into the field was hard enough as it was without constantly being reminded of what he’d done. Things got a little easier with Tatiana around; by the time their plan had been fully formulated he felt more in control of himself than he had in years. Then he showed up. At first he thought it was another hallucination, some fucked up compartment in his brain that wanted him to be miserable, then he realised that no brain on Earth could ever come up with a situation as messed up as that. He wanted nothing more than to go to Owen, to hold him and never let him go again, to sob and apologise and beg him to forgive him. The longer Owen monologued the more he realised that that wasn’t going to be possible, and once again he had to try and pull himself together, to put on a brave face and finally end this, no matter how much it hurt. 

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t deny that Owen’s words were true, he always had been the better spy. Curt had been arrogant back then, impulsive, not that he wasn’t now but at least he’d started to think about the repercussions. He hadn’t meant to betray him by leaving that day, he hadn't even really thought about what he was doing, he was in shock and he was confused and he needed to save himself. So had he ever really loved him? If he was willing to walk out so easily had he been lying to himself the entire time? Four years of avoiding that question had somehow managed to lead him straight to the answer. Staring into the eyes of the man he’d spent forever trying to forget, he was finally able to figure it out: he’d always been in love with him. But more importantly, he was finally able to accept the truth, that that man was gone. The world had done what it always did, corrupted something beautiful. A spy is a spy, he knew the risks, he knew about the countless things that could have and probably should have happened to him throughout the years. And as he raised his gun and stared into his eyes one final time, he reminded himself that his partner was already dead.


End file.
